


Two’s Enough

by ccrackwh0r3



Category: A Separate Peace - John Knowles
Genre: Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Period Typical Attitudes, Period-Typical Homophobia, Slow Burn, Unresolved Romantic Tension, finny deserves better
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-31
Updated: 2020-12-02
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:35:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26217235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ccrackwh0r3/pseuds/ccrackwh0r3
Summary: Gene wants what he can’t have.
Relationships: Gene Forrester & Phineas "Finny", Gene Forrester/Phineas "Finny"
Comments: 13
Kudos: 25





	1. one

Finny always awoke first. Didn’t matter how he had slept the previous night, what time classes started that day, or even if Gene went to sleep before him. Finny was first, always had and always will be. He liked to wake up to watch the sunrise through the window that overlooked the other Devon buildings and then the woods. You couldn’t even get a good look at the sunrise if you tried. Finny couldn’t see it from their window and yet he never set foot out of their dormitory unless Gene was awake and following. Gene never thought much about it. Finny was Finny, after all. As he had learned, Finny didn’t do anything with malice or intend to hurt. Gene did. He almost ruined Finny’s life. 

This morning, Finny woke Gene up, too. Gene tried to swat him away, grumbling and pulling the blankets over his head. It reminded him of Christmas mornings with his younger sister who still believed. She would wake him up at three in the morning, and he would grumble about needing more sleep and how Santa had already passed. They’d try again next year.  _ Please, for the love of God, Cecilia, let me  _ sleep _! _

“C’mon, pal! We’re really going to see the sunrise today,” Finny whispered, tugging the blankets off Gene to expose him to the cold. 

Gene sat up and rubbed at his eyes. He was still so exhausted from yesterday. And for what? He barely moved at all. Just everything was exhausting constantly. Being exhausted was exhausting. But he mumbled something even he didn’t understand and stood up. 

The two boys walked out of their dormitory without changing clothes. Well, Finny had at least put on a shirt and some loafers. Gene walked out in his socks and was disappointed to find out that they quickly became soggy in the dewy grass. It was still dark outside and rather chilly. He didn’t even see the appeal in watching the sunrise. But, he felt as if he owed Finny this. He owed Finny so much. 

Finny outstretched his hand towards Gene, grinning in his Finny way. “Take it, silly,” he said. “We can’t lose each other now.” 

Gene stared at Finny’s hand. Stared far too long and then took it. He knew his palms were clammy and gross but if Finny minded, he didn’t protest, and he thread his fingers in the spaces between Gene’s. He had no idea how they would even lose each other on campus. Both of them knew it like the back of their hand. Getting lost here was impossible. 

Finny walked slower for Gene, matching him stride for stride. Gene even noticed Finny glancing over at him, his fair eyes sparkling in that way that was wholly Finny. Mischievous and affectionate and innocent all at the same time. They were beautiful. It made Gene want to rip out Finny’s eyes and shatter them like they were mirrors. Finny made Gene want to do lots of things, whether or not he meant to. Then after Gene thought those things, he wanted to hurt Finny. In any and every way possible. 

Maybe Finny felt it, too. Perhaps he thought of those things and wanted to hurt Gene. Gene wanted Finny to hurt him. He wanted to scream and yell at Finny to hit him, slap him, curse him, damn him all the way to hell for thinking those thoughts about Finny. He wanted Finny to knock some sense into him. He wanted to stop feeling this way. 

“I’ve always liked the color pink,” Finny said, his melodic voice sending goosebumps along Gene’s arms and neck. 

“If anyone heard you say that, they’d really think you were a fairy,” Gene muttered. Why would Finny endanger himself like that? The boys at Devon would drag him through the mud if they even thought Finny was a fairy. Gene knew the same would happen to him. 

“What’s wrong with being a fairy?” Finny asked. Though, not out of genuine curiosity. Finny wasn’t that naïve. He wanted to know what Gene thought. 

Gene couldn’t think of a single reason why. Why was it wrong? He searched deep down, but nothing logical came up. So he told Finny the truth. “Everybody says it ai—it’s not natural. For men to do those things,” Gene replied. 

“Who’s everybody?” 

“Pa. The priest. Everybody.” 

Gene could hear Finny’s eye roll. Could hear his voice before the words ever came out. Finny, always being reasonable and progressive and kind. Finny and his Yankee ways. Finny and his Boston accent. Finny and his fair eyes which Gene could never tell exactly whether they were blue or green or gray. Finny and his dimples. Finny and his golden hair. Finny and his freckled cheeks. Finny. 

“That’s two people, pal,” Finny pointed out, and Gene knew he was smirking in his smug way, that wasn’t really smug, but just a smirk. “Two people isn’t ‘everybody’.” 

Gene hesitated. There was everything wrong with being a fairy. Weren’t the Nazis burning them with the Jews and the Romani and the Slavs and commies? Everybody hated them. They were disgusting. They were lowly, dirty, predatory—a crime against nature. Everybody said so. 

“Two’s enough,” he said after a beat or two of silence. 

He didn’t get a response immediately. Finny seemed to be thinking, light eyes narrowed, brow furrowed, chewing slightly on his bottom lip. 

“Two’s enough,” Finny repeated, and gave Gene’s hand a squeeze. Gene wanted to do so many things. But he really, really, wanted to hurt and break Finny. And he wanted Finny to hurt and break him. 

Why wouldn’t Finny just hurt him? It’d be easier. It’d be easier if Finny hated Gene and Gene hated Finny. Why couldn’t it be easy? 

They sat in the wet grass, a foot away from each other. Gene had quickly untangled his fingers from Finny’s as soon as they had stopped walking. Finny had seemed confused, even hurt, but the expression quickly passed and was replaced by his constant enthusiasm. Finny had only left a few inches between them at first, but Gene had scooted away, his blood cold and chest tight. 

The sunrise was underwhelming. There was nothing special about it inherently. The sun came up and the sky changed colors. Big deal. Wasn’t worth soggy socks and a sore neck. However, Gene knew he would remember this morning for the rest of his life. It seemed like a milestone he had hit, and a very important one at that. Did Finny feel this way? Would he recall this sunrise a month from now? 

It reminded him eerily of the beach. Finny a foot away, looking at Gene and not watching the stars. Gene pretending not to notice and fiddling with his thumbs. He knew now a conversation was about to take place. Would Finny confess another thing?

Gene heard Finny open his mouth. “I always wondered why you never said it back,” he began carefully, in his serious voice that reminded Gene of summer evenings in Georgia. “I think I understand now.” 

Gene froze. His mouth got suddenly dry and he wanted to get up and run run run  _ run _ . Finny knew—Finny knew and he would hate Gene and never speak to him again. But wasn’t that what he had wanted? For Finny to hate him? Oh, he didn’t know anymore! Why couldn’t this be easier? 

“Understand what?” he drawled, but it came out croaky and confrontational and Gene realized with a start that he sounded like his father. He didn’t mean for it to come out like that. He didn’t want to sound like his father. 

“I understand I frightened you,” Finny said. He shifted against the bed of the wet grass. “Have you ever had a best pal before, Gene?” 

Gene inhaled sharply. What did Finny really mean by that? “Best pal” how? “Best pal” could mean lots of things. It could be code. Code for Gene to decipher and answer in another code himself for Finny to understand. In whatever way Finny meant, the answer was no. In all honesty and truth, Gene had never had a best friend. 

He relented this fact to Finny, who simply nodded. Silence again between the two boys. Gene wanted to roll on top of Finny and either kiss him or beat the life out of him. He wanted to punch Finny for making him think of kissing him. He wanted so much and it was all so complicated. 

“Am I your best pal? Like you are mine?” Finny asked so quietly, Gene would’ve missed it if the wind had come through right then. 

Gene could at least give Finny this. He owed Finny this. He owed Finny so much. As the words tumbled out of his mouth, Gene was sure it was true. He had said it and so it was true. 

“Of course.” 

  
  



	2. two

He said it and it was true. Finny was his best friend. Gene was Finny’s. Two’s enough. All things they have said, and so it will be true. Because they put it out into the world and so it is. Finny may think rules are useless and only put in place by old men with white beards. But, didn’t he see that these, _these_ , were their rules that they had made. Together. These were rules they would live by.

He wondered if Finny will remember this morning as he does. The sky a pragmatic place between pink and blue and indigo. The grass slick with dew and soggy socks and blades itching at his bare skin and wondering if the other boy was like you. Thought like you. 

Gene peeled off his socks in their dorm and tore off his sleep shirt and pajama pants. Finny sat back down in his desk chair, staring ahead at the wall. What was he thinking? Was this all an elaborate scheme to get ahead, put Gene in his lowly place? 

_No_ . Finny was better. Finny was good. Down to his very core, his very being, his very _essence_. Gene wanted to pick it apart and put some of it inside of him to understand and feel it and be it. Gene wanted to tear it away from Finny and smash the goodness until it was no more. 

He buried this feeling deep down. Why did he want to destroy things that were so beautiful and good? Why was this desire present in him, coursing through his veins and flowing in his blood? Whereas Finny was good, Gene was bad. He was evil and disgusting and—he was so much of everything Finny should despise. Finny should hate him. Finny should want to tear Gene apart and destroy the badness in him. Gene wanted Finny to. He needed Finny to get rid of this badness in him. He couldn’t take it anymore. It was going to swallow him whole and consume him. There would be nothing left, just bad. Gene didn’t want to be all bad. 

He wanted to crawl inside Finny’s skin and be one. He wanted to feel the good and stroke it and love it and be it. Gene wanted to feel Finny and stroke his hair and love him and be apart of Finny in anyway possible. Because Finny was good, wholly good, the good. Gene wanted to hit Finny and spit on him, too, for making him feel these emotions, these wants, making him think thoughts like that. 

Finny was his best friend. Gene was Finny’s best friend. That was the rule. That was the truth. 

Rules were needed to progress, to evolve. Finny’s disregard for them fascinated and frustrated Gene all the same. Of course, the only rules Finny ever followed were the ones he came up with. He had a disdain for societal norms and competition and being the best and winning. He was good. Finny was good. And Gene was bad. Finny would never hate him, he couldn’t. It wasn’t in his bones like it had been breathed into Gene, etched upon his skin and fed to him spoonful by spoonful. 

He had been still far too long. They both had been. Gene rose to his feet and started changing, ignoring Finny’s eyes boring holes right through Gene’s skin. There was nothing to look at. Gene was nothing to look at, so he felt little shame. He heard Finny get to his feet, as well, and begin to change. 

Their clothes were nearly identical. They were the same size, the same height, and nearly the same weight. Though they couldn’t look more different. Finny’s Yankee paleness that didn’t go away no matter how long he spent in the sun, Gene’s Georgia tan he had earned working besides his father for hours on the farm. Finny’s golden hair and light eyes and Gene’s brown mop and murky pools that reminded him of a swamp. They were different and yet so similar. 

“Gene, help me with my tie, won’t you?” Finny asked him, turning and holding out his tie towards him. “You know I can never get it right.” 

Gene obliged and did up Finny’s tie, fingers moving on their own from muscle memory. He made sure it was tight enough, long enough, short enough, straight enough, smooth enough. Good enough for Devon. Good enough for Finny. 

“Thanks, pal,” Finny murmured, watching Gene do his own tie. There’s a pause as Gene finishes and looks Finny in the eyes. A pause that is too long, too quiet. Too much. Finny scrunches his brow as if he wants to say something, but he must’ve decided to keep his mouth shut for once because he turns and picks up his bag. 

Gene follows. 

  
  
  
  
  
  



	3. three

Summer was gone. A month long break was to ensue before returning back to Devon for their final year before they had to enlist or be drafted into the war. The campus wouldn’t change a bit once Gene returned from Georgia. It would still look the same as it had in the years since he had been enrolled. Of course, fall then winter then spring would come around and it would change ever so slightly, but not at all. 

Gene sat on his bare bed, rolling a thread that had come undone on the mattress between his fingers. Finny had not yet finished packing, so he thought he ought to wait. That’s what best friends did. They waited for each other and did everything together. Finny was his best friend. Gene was Finny’s. 

“You know,” the other boy began, turning around to face Finny, leaning against the tall dresser at the foot of his bed. “In all the months I’ve known you, I never learned anything about  _ you _ .” 

Gene looked up from where he had been playing with the string. Finny knew plenty about him. Plenty enough. He didn’t need to know every little thing. That’d be absurd and strange if Finny knew every inch of Gene’s being and how he thought and everything that he had done before Devon, before him. Strange and absurd and abnormal. 

“You know lots about me,” Gene muttered. 

“I don’t know your favorite color.” 

“I don’t have one.” 

He could hear the gears turning in Finny’s brain and knew there was some sort of lecture happening up there. Finny was planning on saying something about how one needs a favorite everything, even a favorite texture or favorite bedsheet. Gene had to have a favorite color, wasn’t there one he just particularly liked and Gene would shrug and answer blue, like every boy his age. Except that wouldn’t be good enough for Finny. Finny expected something different from Gene. He would say that blue was bland, oh Gene, far too bland for you! Never took you for an old codger and Gene would laugh and tell Finny he liked yellow, really, actually liked the color yellow. 

Except none of that happened. Instead, Finny asked about his family. Gene’s family. Who did he live with? What were his parents like? Any siblings? 

Gene shrugged. “I don’t know. Ma and Pa don’t really talk to us or each other unless we did something or they’re arguing.” He had never said that out loud and now Finny absorbed this fact and tucked it away for storage. Did he pity Gene already? Find this fact of his life sad? 

Finny was still quiet. Which meant Gene had to keep going. Keep telling. “I—I’m the third out of eight kids,” he continued, beginning to roll the thread between his fingers again. He didn’t want to look Finny in the eye. “My older brother, Robert, he—he has a bad leg. It got infected or somethin’ long time ago. Beth—my older sister—she’s getting married before he’s drafted. Right before school starts again.”

“Eight?” Finny echoed. Gene knew his eyebrows were raised, fair eyes wide, mouth slightly ajar. “I can’t imagine having to deal with eight versions of you, pal.” 

He chucked slightly at this and then kept going. Kept telling Finny about his siblings. Billy, Winnie, Cecilia, Frankie, and then baby Ned. He told Finny about how holidays went with ten people in his house and yes, there was always enough to go around but not extras. How everyone got two Christmas presents each year and how they only got birthday parties and presents on milestones. Otherwise, there’d be too many. Gene realized that he was probably boring Finny now and clamped his mouth shut. 

Finny didn’t say anything about him going strangely quiet. Perhaps he just hadn’t noticed. Or maybe Gene was really beginning to bore him. 

“It’s me, Dad, Momma, and then my older sister, Cristinia,” Finny told Gene. “She’s about eleven years older than I am. She was supposed to be a boy, too. Momma was very surprised when Cristinia turned out to be a girl. She was supposed to have it all. Inherit everything. Go to a fancy school. I guess I kind of screwed everything up for her.” 

Gene didn’t know what to say to this. Did Finny hate himself, deep down, for something like that? Something so wildly out of his control? Choices you made were in your control. Feelings were in your control. Choices and feelings you hate yourself for. Not your body, not your position, not things that don’t concern you. And Finny certainly could never, should never, hate himself. For anything. 

He never will again because Gene Forrester has wished it into the universe and every night he will pray it to be so. 

“You didn’t choose to be born.” That’s all Gene could think of to say. He didn’t know how else to phrase it and he hoped Finny understood. 

And he did. He did understand. Gene knew he understood because Finny nodded and then smiled at Gene, who had looked him back in the eye. 

Gene was Finny’s best friend. Finny was Gene’s. This was the rule. 

They said good-bye and that was that. Gene got into a train to Georgia and Finny got into a car with a man Gene assumed to be his father. A month was going to stretch between here and now. It seemed so long as he stared out at the New Hampshire forest. Thirty days without Finny. Far, far away from him. 

The thought made his insides cold. Shouldn’t he be glad? Spending time away from Finny would be good for him, better for him. He wouldn’t have to think about him because Finny wouldn’t be hovering over his shoulder. His fair eyes wouldn’t bore holes in Gene’s back. Gene wouldn’t have to watch him jump out of the tree and then follow him. He wouldn’t have to think about Finny. 

Finny wouldn’t be able to make Gene think about kissing him. 

He was suddenly overwhelmed with this thought. The image taking shape in his mind began to get clearer and stitch itself together. Gene had never let this thought get very far. He indulged in it just this once. Just once, he would allow himself this. 

He imagined that they were alone in their shared room. Gene was studying, like always. Finny would be balancing his pencil on the tip of his nose or procrastinating in some other way. Then he would ask Gene if he needed help studying. Gene would shrug and Finny would drag his chair over. Finny wouldn’t be much help. Gene’s the academic type, not Finny. Then their elbows would brush and Finny would smile in his special way and it would make Gene turn rosy red and then Finny would say something about Gene’s scarlet ears and pink cheeks. Then they would kiss. 

Gene wanted to go back and have that happen. He wanted Finny here. He wanted Finny. 

Gene hated that he wanted Finny. Gene hated Finny. Gene hated himself. 

Could the others riding the train see these desires on his face? Could they look at him and know what he was? Did he look like one? Gene slumped down in his seat to hide himself. He didn’t look like one because he wasn’t one. He wasn’t. It wasn’t natural. This was Finny’s doing. It had to be. 

The ride home was long and quiet. Gene had to catch five different trains on his way back and almost missed the third one, which was the most important one. He almost mistook it for a different train going down further to Florida. By the time he ended up at home, it was the next day and nearly ten o’ clock at night. 

The house still looked the same from the outside. He knew it would look the same inside, too. But… something felt different. Gene couldn’t quite put a finger on it. It was just… it was weird. 

He was just being silly. Everything was still the same. Pa would be sleeping in the study when Gene walked in, Ma upstairs with baby Ned in his bassinet, Cecilia and Frankie curled up in the space that was supposed to be Pa’s. Beth and Winnie would still be awake, whispering and gossiping even though Beth was too old for such things. And Billy would be snoring and Gene wouldn’t be able to sleep. At least Robert had gotten married a few years ago and was already out of the house. Gene didn’t think he could handle Robert and Billy’s snoring at the same time. 

Gene went up to the door and twisted the knob. Locked. He bit back a sigh and sat down on the porch steps, which were crumbling bit by bit. They drooped as he put his weight in the middle of them. He wondered what Finny would think about his house. 

Surely Finny lived in a place that was nicer. Everything that Finny owned was nice and crisp. It contrasted with Gene’s worn hand-me-downs greatly. Gene’s clothes had permanent wrinkles and were faded so much that they all looked to be grayscale and monochromatic. Yet, Finny still managed to get their laundry messed up and wore Gene’s underwear on accident twice. He still didn’t know how Finny had messed up something like that. 

Like usual, it was sweltering outside. Gene slapped away sweat bees and mosquitoes, getting more and more irritated the longer he sat on the porch steps. Couldn’t Ma had at least stayed awake a little longer and wait for her son? Or couldn’t Beth have remembered to leave the door unlocked? He rested his head on his knees and closed his eyes, trying his best to sleep before Pa would leave for work and see him sitting on the porch steps. 

  
  
  


When he awoke and was rudely pushed inside and given a lecture, Gene learned his family had just forgotten he was coming home for the month. He was busy during daylight, weeding Ma’s garden, helping Billy harvest the corn and cotton, walking Billy, Winnie, Frankie, and Cecilia to school and back home, washing the dishes, sweeping the floors, and helping Ma do the laundry. He hated doing chores inside. It felt like something Beth or Winnie should be doing, not Gene, who was turning seventeen next week. He should be getting a day job at somewhere like the public pool. If anyone at Devon saw him sweeping, they’d call him a sissy and a fairy. He wasn’t a fairy. 

But, Ma needed help. Beth was busy finishing everything and getting the venues and what not ready for her stupid wedding, Ned was only four, Pa was at work and wouldn’t help anyway, and the rest were at school. He wondered what Finny would think if Finny saw him wash the dishes or hang clothes on the clothesline. 

Gene turned seventeen and he hated it. It wasn’t like he was expecting anything. He wasn’t even eighteen yet, so he knew he wasn’t going to feel any older. He just felt tired and empty. Gene wanted Finny. He tossed and turned in bed with the sudden overflow of thoughts surrounding his friend. He wanted to hit Finny. 

Beth got married. Gene had already been to Robert’s wedding and the experience was exactly the same. He couldn’t remember the name of the guy Beth married, just like two years ago when Robert’s bride started talking to him and he couldn’t figure out her name. All the bridesmaids and groomsmen looked the same. Ma cried just like at Robert’s wedding. Pa was grumbling the whole time he walked Beth down the aisle, his eyes faraway. Pa spent most of the wedding away smoking and drinking. 

There was dancing, too. Gene danced with the same girl he had danced with two years ago at his brother’s wedding. Her name was Charlotte or something like that. He knew they were around the same age and their families had known each other forever. Charlotte was just as excited as she was two years ago. She even laughed when Gene accidentally stepped on her toes. She even tried to move his hand that was on her hip lower, but he put his hand back. He didn’t want to touch her down there. 

She was chattering away about anything and everything. Gene just nodded along and hummed in agreement or grunted in his distaste. Charlotte didn’t press him for anything more. There was a slow song and she put her head on his shoulder and Gene couldn’t help but notice that her hair was the same shade of blonde as Finny’s. He closed his eyes and suddenly Charlotte morphed into Finny. And it was Finny who lifted his head off Gene’s shoulder and Finny’s fingers on his cheek, pulling Gene’s face to his. 

Gene opened his eyes and Charlotte was too close. He pushed her off and ran away, away from everyone else. He didn’t want to kiss Charlotte or any other girl he saw. He wanted to kiss Finny. 

And when he finally stopped running, he doubled over and tears began to fall from his eyes onto the cracked pavement. He didn’t want to want Finny in that way. He didn’t want it. But he especially didn’t want to be that close to Charlotte’s face ever again. 

  
  
  



	4. four

Gene hadn’t been able to stop thinking about Finny. At all. Everything reminded him of his best friend, even the blades of dead grass on his front lawn. Finny would be able to find something beautiful about even dead grass. Finny always saw the beauty in everything. He wasn’t capable of saying anything remotely negative. He was too good. Too good for this scary reality where they had to enlist in the war, too good to find something good about Gene, too good to stay by Gene’s side. 

Finny’s things were already set up when Gene arrived at Devon several hours later than he was supposed to. And Finny was sitting cross-legged on his made-up bed, which wasn’t going to last long. Gene managed a small smile and then flopped down on his bare mattress. It still smelled of their summer together, the river and fireflies and sand and wet grass. The whole room still smelled like summer. It was almost as if nothing had changed, nothing had happened. 

Nothing had happened really. Something could’ve happened. Gene could’ve pushed Finny out of the tree or wiggled the limb and made Finny lose his balance. Would Finny be dead? Would he not have been affected by the fall? Finny always seemed unbreakable, untouchable. Gene wanted to be apart of that, to understand that. 

He heard Finny chuckle and slide out of his bed to sit at the foot of Gene’s. “Long ride?” he asked and Gene knew he was smiling, fair eyes clear and affectionate for Gene, his freckled cheeks glowing in the dim light of the room, his golden hair like a halo around his head. 

Gene grumbled in response. Again, Finny chuckled and he felt a firm weight on his back. It lingered for a moment and then disappeared. Gene turned on his side to face Finny. His friend’s face faltered for a moment, his usual confidence gone for just a second. What was Finny contemplating? He was wearing that look again, eyebrows furrowed, eyes narrowed, biting down on his bottom lip. What was troubling him? 

He wanted to ease Finny’s worry. To sit up and grab Finny’s face in his hands and kiss that look right off him. Finny shouldn’t be troubled. 

“I’m sorry,” he said and inched away from Gene a little bit. “Sorry.” 

Gene sat up and looked at Finny. Finny and his golden hair. Finny and his freckled cheeks. Finny who was so much better than him. Finny who was always good and pure and unbreakable. Untouchable. He scooted closer to Finny and laid his head on his shoulder, slowly letting out a deep breath. He didn’t want Finny to know that he thought about kissing him. 

“Sorry for what?” Gene asked, staring at Finny’s stupid loafers that he always wore. They were so ugly and yet Finny still chose to wore them every single damn day. They weren’t even allowed in the dress code and he didn’t even get in trouble for it. It was like the pink shirt. 

“I don’t know.” 

Both of them were stiff and silent in their shared room. Gene’s head was still on Finny’s shoulder, though nothing else touched. Gene had angled his body away from Finny and Finny hadn’t moved a single inch closer or nearer. It was just friendly affection, right? That’s all this showed, right? If someone walked in, they wouldn’t say anything, would they? What would Pa say? 

Pa wasn’t here though, was he? None of their classmates would suddenly burst in and none of their teachers would, either. Everything was okay. Nobody would see this. Nobody had to know about this. This was just between them. Whatever this was. 

“Gene…” Finny muttered, not finishing his sentence. Gene sat up and looked at Finny expectantly. “We should go to bed, pal. It’s late.” 

Gene blinked. His head felt like it was frozen and empty. He felt empty inside as Finny stood up and started undressing. Gene couldn’t move his eyes away from the old hardwood floor of their room covered with scratches from the moving of their beds, wardrobes, and from their shoes. Gene was frozen in time as Finny undressed in front of him slowly, burning holes into his head with those fair eyes, watching Gene barely breathe. 

“I missed you,” Finny said, rolling up his shirt into a tight ball and throwing it towards his desk. “I missed you a lot.” 

His tone was breathy, as if this statement were illicit. Gene snapped out of his daze and looked up at Finny, his heart pounding in his temple. He blinked to get it to stop, but it just got worse. What was Finny really trying to say? Was he playing some kind of elaborate joke on him? Was he trying to get Gene to do something that could be held against him? 

Finny moved closer. “Did you miss me, Gene?” 

The other boy leaned back on his elbows as Finny loomed above him, shirtless, the dim light of the room making his golden hair shine above him like a halo. Like he was a holy angel coming to save Gene from his sins, rescue him from this terrifying world. 

“Yes,” Gene whispered. “I missed you.”  _ I wanted to kiss you even while we were apart. I wanted to hold you and I wanted you to hold me. And I want that right now, too _ .  _ I want it so badly, my fingers crave to run themselves through your hair and my heart hurts for you, Finny _ . 

“It’ll be cold tonight, won’t it?” Finny whispered, their faces mere inches away from each other. “You wouldn’t mind sharing tonight, right?” 

Gene furrowed his brow. “What?” he asked, bile bathing his tongue at the thought of allowing something like that to happen. “Share the same bed?” 

Finny sprang back, his eyes wide with fear. Gene felt his face soften. He caused that reaction. He made that happen. He made Finny fearful and for what? For wanting to share a bed? There wasn’t inherently wrong with that. He used to share a bed with Winnie and Billy when he was younger. 

But that was different wasn’t it? Finny wasn’t his brother. Finny was his best friend. Someone Gene thought was attractive and he shouldn’t be attractive, Finny shouldn’t make Gene be attracted to him. This was all some elaborate scheme, some long, carefully designed plan to set Gene up. To send Gene off to the looney bin so he wouldn’t be able to serve in the military, so Finny could steal his spot of top of the class. It had to be. These feelings weren’t natural. This had to be some doing on Finny’s part. 

Finny only looked so scared because Gene hadn’t been as easy to fool as he thought. That had to be it. He hadn’t overreacted. Gene wasn’t a fairy and Finny wouldn’t make one out of him. 

“I—I’m so sorry, Gene,” Finny stammered out, “I didn’t—I didn’t mean anything by it. I swear.” 

Gene didn’t say anything. He stood up and changed into his pajamas as Finny kneeled besides his bed and prayed. He crawled under the covers and stared at the wall, his stomach still churning. 

The lights turned off. 

  
  
  
  
  
  



	5. five

They didn’t talk to each other the next day. Or the day after that. All Gene recalled from that strange month was the awful silence at night. No “Good night, pal” and no “How was your day?” from either of them. Who was to blame for this? Should Gene just have forgotten about that night when Phineas tried to crawl into bed with him? Moved on? No, he was right. Ignoring Phineas was a justified action, if not necessary. What if someone had seen? 

Gene couldn’t figure out how Phineas still managed to make him continually think about that night, and the beach, and the sunrise. Gene still thought about kissing him. All the time. And he couldn’t push it away or bury it deep down. That was all he could think about some days, to the point where he couldn’t even focus on his schoolwork or during class. How did Phineas still hold so much power over him? 

He didn’t talk to anyone else. He had noticed Phineas had done the same. Eating alone, kicking their ball from blitzball alone, just smiling and waving when he would’ve talked endlessly. He didn’t even participate in class anymore. Or paid attention. He stared out the nearest window or tapped his pencil on the ledge of the desk. Gene caught himself wanting to reach out to him and comfort him. Phineas would not make a fairy out of him. 

Sometimes Leper and Brinker would try to talk to Gene, but he’d just shrug or nod in response. They weren’t friends. They didn’t care about him. Phineas certainly didn’t. If they really were best friends, he wouldn’t have tried to sabotage Gene at any given opportunity. If Phineas had truly cared about him, then he wouldn’t make Gene have awful thoughts about him. Thoughts he had to scrub from his skin in the showers. 

Perhaps Phineas was also filled with badness, with poison, just like Gene. Perhaps they were both poisoned, both drinking from the same filthy waters. But Phineas had acted on his poison, tried to spread his poison to Gene, infect him. At least Gene hadn’t acted on his badness. Perhaps he should’ve. 

He never saw Phineas in the Butt Room. Of course an athlete like him would never dare set foot. Gene did. He needed to. He couldn’t have the other boys suspecting he was poisoned, dirty, filthy, capable of infecting them. He wasn’t. Phineas was. It was best for everyone if Phineas just stayed away. It’s what was best. He had already partially spread his filthiness to Gene. By not talking to Phineas, Gene was protecting the others. Yes. Of course he was. He had to be. 

The nights were unbearable. Crushing silence. Phineas didn’t even pray. Had he really been so distraught to find that Gene didn’t want to be poisoned by him? He was already poisoned enough. He had drank from the filthy waters his entire life, badness had been born with him, manifesting itself into him, growing with him, becoming him. Gene was bad, he was filthy, he was dirty, he was wrong. Not as awful as Phineas, though. Phineas had acted on it. Gene had not. 

He thought about it at night, when his eyelids became too heavy and the room too cold if he stuck his foot out of the blanket. He climbed up the tree with Phineas. Phineas suggested they jump together, smiling in his angelic way. It was all a front, wasn’t it? Had been all along. Just a trick. And when Phineas turned to jump with Gene, Gene did what he had felt the urge to do. He jounced the limb and Phineas fell, landing with a sharp thud against the earth. And Gene looked down at his lifeless body, already paler and ghostly, the light of his eyes already gone. Phineas was gone. Phineas was dead. And then Gene launched himself off the branch and landed in the water gracefully. It washed him of this sin. His poison was gone. 

Gene could never tell if this was a fantasy or a nightmare. He was never sure which he hoped it was. 

The cold of New Hampshire crept in, frosting over the grass in the mornings, the trees nearly naked, their limbs stretching up, up, up into the sky, piercing it, making it bleed that slushy gray that Gene felt inside. He missed Georgia in these times. He hated the coats that were always too awkward, itchy scarves that rubbed his throat raw, the gloves that tickled his wrists and fingertips. He hated winter. He hated the cold. 

He saw Phineas relishing it in, though. Taking off his coat to feel the drizzle of rain against his skin. Stepping on the leaves that had cluttered on the pavement, crushing them underneath his shoe, seemingly disappointed when they did crinkle or crunch. Phineas still hadn’t bothered to talk to anyone. Still the quiet one in class, when he had never shied away from the spotlight. When he used to blurt out whatever answer he had come up with, as wrong and off-topic as it had been. It used to make Gene wonder how Phineas had ever qualified for admittance into Devon, then he remembered how great of an athlete Phineas was. Devon loved the athletes and the sports as much as academics. 

He wondered what Devon would do if they learned what had happened that night in their dorm. Would Phineas be barred from enlisting? Expelled? Transferred to the looney bin? 

Would Phineas pin everything on him? Accuse him? Perhaps Phineas would take on the role of Abigail Williams and Gene would be Elizabeth Proctor. Accuse Gene of something he never done, never dream of doing. No, of course not. Not Gene. Gene was filthy, dirty, poisonous, bad, terrible, but he hadn’t acted on anything. Phineas had. Phineas did it. Not Gene. Never Gene. 

He woke up engulfed in silence and went to bed engulfed in silence. Day in day out. Week after week after week. At least it had felt like weeks. It definitely felt like more than three weeks. Gene missed Phineas. He couldn’t miss Phineas. This was good for him. He hadn’t been thinking about kissing him. Phineas wasn’t around to make him think thoughts like those. That was good. Gene could be good, Gene could be normal, Gene could be like the other boys, couldn’t he? He deserved that. He was going to work hard and get top of his class and be drafted into the army and he would survive the war and he would get married to that fucking girl he always had to dance with at weddings and he would have a kid or two and die alone. Just like all the other boys were going to do. Gene didn’t really have a choice in the matter, did he? Nobody ever had a choice. Maybe Phineas’s stupid conspiracy theories were right. 

Gene splashed water into his eyes to excuse the redness. 


	6. six

“What are you going out for, Gene?”

Gene looked up from his book, down at Leper crouching by the creek, poking in the mud with a twig. “Probably manager,” he mumbled, narrowing his eyes as the cold wind came through.

Leper nodded, his dark eyes focused intently on the mud. Leper was strange, sure, but he was namely harmless. He didn’t have bad intentions and the only people he really talked to were Gene and Chet Douglass. And sure, sometimes he got annoying when he would ramble about nature, but it was nothing Gene couldn’t just smile and nod along to. That’s what he had done over the summer, and he would be doing it again over their shortened winter break. Leper had always reminded him of a child somehow, despite him being a few months older than Gene. He would be one of the first boys of Devon to be drafted. One of the first to die. 

So would Phineas. 

He pushed the thoughts away. The war was nowhere near them. It could not touch them. They still had time before they had to fight and enlist. Gene still had time until he was drafted. Besides, what good would a boy like Leper be in war? Surely he would be pardoned. Gene hoped Leper would be pardoned. Phineas wouldn’t be pardoned. 

Gene’s grip on his book tightened and he hadn’t even noticed he had been grinding his teeth together. He needed to go inside. Perhaps some sleep would make him feel better. Make the sudden ache inside of him go away, evaporate. He didn’t want to grow up just yet.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Leper,” he mumbled. “Don’t stay out too long.”

Leper looked up at Gene, his eyes wide. He looked so young. He looked like one of Gene’s younger brothers, crouched down by the creek, playing in the mud. “I’ll be alright,” the other boy said, returning to his stick and the mud that was quickly hardening from the cold.

Gene stood up, every joint in his body protesting. The cold had even seeped into his bones up here. He had never felt so old back in Georgia, but he probably felt older up here because of the war, not just because of the weather. Everything turned gray in the winter. 

He had noticed that Phineas’s eyes had. Even his blond hair had taken on a gray hue during the winter. As if his life force had been suddenly sucked out of him, as if he no longer mattered. None of the other boys at Devon had taken on this appearance. Gene wondered if he looked gray, too. He hoped not. Nothing was wrong with him. He wasn’t sick. Gene didn’t get sick. 

Everyone was already inside. He hoped Leper would come inside soon. It was getting dark outside. He walked to his room. The room he shared with Phineas. Lately he had been avoiding it by smoking with the others in the Butt Room. However, something pulled him towards his room tonight. He knew he had to walk in and be there. Even if Phineas was already there, spreading himself thin over their piles of homework. Gene sees him at his desk and Phineas sees him walk in.

They are silent, unmoving, perhaps even thoughtless. There is just them, the two of them, and perhaps nothing else but them. Gene and Phineas. Phineas and Gene. Perhaps Phineas feels this too, the strange thing connecting them. Does he want to explore it? Push it? Warp it? How does he want to define this strangeness between them? Phineas should be the one to define it. He had crawled into Gene’s bed. Or had attempted to. Gene had lashed out, hadn’t he? He remembered the look on Phineas’s face. Eyes wide, mouth hanging open, face paler than ever. Phineas had even kneeled beside his bed to pray. Had he asked Him for forgiveness? 

Gene wanted to apologize. He wanted the words he could never say to tumble out of his mouth. He wanted Phineas to be able to open Gene up and understand. He had never meant to hurt him. That was what he had been taught. He had been taught wrong. Could Phineas ever find it within himself to forgive him,  _ please _ ?

They said nothing and Gene changed into his pajamas and fell asleep, though he didn’t remember doing so. He had dreamt of sweltering heat and the burn of whiskey in the back of his throat and in his nose. There was a cigarette dangling from his mouth and he looked older, like Pa. Too much like Pa. Maybe this was Pa and Gene was just the observer. Suddenly, Pa was getting up and walking towards him, smashing the bottle of whiskey he held on their porch, his face red with anger. As Pa neared him, he got taller and ganglier. Gene remembered looking down and seeing Phineas’s pink shirt on him. 

He had thought about that dream all day. He couldn’t shake off the feeling it was just a dream. This was Phineas’s fault. It had to be. Nothing else would’ve made sense if it wasn’t his fault. This was the first time they’d fallen asleep together since the first day of school.  _ Fucking fairy _ , he thought bitterly as he stared at Phineas’s back and as he watched himself brush his teeth in the mirror.  _ Fucking fairy _ . 

He used the water to cover up his red eyes again. How many more times would he have to do this? Phineas was making him weak. Gene was getting sentimental over everything and he dreaded enlisting and the possibility of getting drafted. If he was any sort of man, he would be looking forward to it, wouldn’t he? He’d be one of the first ones to enlist if he was a real man. 

Once everyone else had left the bathroom, he muttered the phrase to himself. “Fucking fairy.” Gene whipped his head around to see if anyone had heard, even though everyone was out in the hall, shouting and jumping down the stairs. 

He stared at himself in the mirror, swampy brown eyes and dark hair that was starting to get too long. He looked like one of them, didn’t he? Everyone could see it on his face. That’s what everybody was laughing about in the halls. Gene Forrester, the fucking fairy. Everyone knew. They had to. And it was all Phineas’s fault. 

Phineas was one, too. Everyone knew he was. 

Everyone knew they were. 


	7. seven

Gene flicked the ash off his cigarette, staring pointedly at the floor. The others were snickering about some pornographic magazine someone’s brother had mailed in. He didn’t even know which models were in it. He didn’t even want to look at it. Though, when he chanced a glance up, he was the only one not squabbling over who’s turn it was to look at the boobs. He quickly looked back down and stamped out his cigarette butt and lit another one, trying to appear nonchalant. He was too mature for those magazines. Yeah, of course he was. He had other things to worry about besides getting stupid sexual kicks from a picture. Like French homework. He burned through his fourth cigarette rather quickly. 

“Forrester!” Brinker shouted, causing Gene to choke on his newly lit cigarette. “C’mon, I know you want to see.” The other boy grinned and waved the magazine at Gene, who was still trying to catch his breath after his coughing fit. 

He squinted at the magazine before averting his eyes and returning to his cigarette. It really didn’t do anything for him. What was he supposed to get from that picture, anyway? What was he supposed to feel? He hoped that Brinker would stop smirking and shoving it in his face every time he looked away from it. 

“Brinker, give it a rest, he’s just going to have sex with Phineas later when we’re all asleep,” one of the boys called. 

Gene stamped out his cigarette and snapped to his full height. Which still wasn’t intimidating, considering he still had the height and body of a fifteen-year-old. 

“Pardon?” he asked, narrowing his eyes and trying to appear bigger. 

“We all know it,” the same voice said. It belonged to some lanky kid that was a year behind them. “Though, from the way he’s been moping around, I don’t think either of them has had any action since school started.” 

Gene lurched forward, but Brinker rushed towards him, painfully grabbing his arms and twisting them behind his back so Gene was reduced to squirming and kicking. He knew his face was as red as a tomato. With what? Anger? Embarrassment? He tried desperately to break out of Brinker’s grasp, thrashing wildly, but the boy holding him back was much stronger. Gene’s efforts weren’t going to amount to anything. He calmed down and was able to shrug Brinker off. 

He stormed out of the Butt Room and went to the tree. The tree that he and Finny had jumped out of. The sun was setting, and he knew he didn’t have much time before he had to be back in his room. 

The lawns were covered in brown leaves. Nobody had been by to clean them up. The trees were almost bare, but as it wasn’t winter just yet, a few still clung onto the branches. The cold was still sharp and pierced his lungs as he inhaled. He had just walked outside in a thin sweater over his uniform. He had been so embarrassed that he hadn’t been thinking clearly. Now he was going to catch a cold. 

There was another person at the river, and the sun’s fading glow told him that that shade of blond belonged to Finny. He quickened his pace, his cheeks and stomach burning. He forgot he was even cold for a second. His coldness was replaced with white-hot anger. Towards the boy in the Butt Room, towards Pa, towards Devon, towards the war, and towards Finny. The longer he let his mind dwell on these thoughts, his rage only grew and fed the flame inside of him. 

As he neared the river, the leaves crinkled under his shoe, and Finny was alerted of his presence. The blond greeted him with a small smile. That was short-lived. 

Gene tackled Finny to the ground, trying to pin his hands somewhere so Finny couldn’t hit back. But, Finny was strong. He was a star athlete, Gene should’ve expected this. His friend thrashed wildly, just as Gene had done in Brinker’s grasp. But Gene wasn’t strong. His palms grew sweaty and Finny took the opportunity to overpower him, his knee knocking into Gene’s stomach. Gene’s fist landed clumsily on Finny’s cheek. 

He didn’t even look the least bit ruffled. Gene’s chest heaved as he struggled to get air inside of him. Finny had a strong grasp on Gene’s wrists, his oceanic eyes narrowed, brow furrowed, slightly frowning. He was still breathtakingly beautiful. Gene worried about how ruffled his hair was. Did he still look like a scrawny fifteen-year-old with spectacles and washed-out pants? 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, taking a deep breath as he shuddered against the cold that seeped into his clothes from the ground. 

“Can I kiss you?” Finny asked, his grip on Gene’s wrists loosening greatly. 

Gene looked towards the building. There didn’t seem to be any teachers coming by, or anyone, for that matter. Gene looked back towards Finny. 

“Yes,” he breathed and the boy above him smiled. 

They crashed into each other, like the waves at the beach. Gene felt an overwhelming soaring feeling in his stomach. Finny let go of his wrists to comb his fingers through Gene’s hair. Finny’s fingers were tentative at first and unsure. Gene didn’t protest the affection, so Finny’s fingers became more solid in the knots of Gene’s hair. The brunet found Finny’s cheeks and placed one hand on the left side of his face, slowly relaxing his fingers against the other boy’s skin. 

Finny slowly pulled away from Gene, and the look on his face was so soft that Gene would’ve melted, but he heard his teeth chatter violently instead. 

The boy above him sat up. “You should’ve told me you were cold, pal,” Finny muttered, unzipping his coat. “No, I should’ve known you were cold. What were you thinking, Gene? Wearing just this outside?” He tugged lightly on the thin sweater. 

“I wasn’t,” Gene replied, still staring up at the sky.

“Here,” Finny muttered, pulling Gene to his feet with him. “You’re going to catch a cold like that, silly.” 

Gene let Finny put the coat on him and zip it up. Finny smiled in satisfaction and pecked him. He froze and tears pricked behind his eyes. He turned the other way as Finny’s smile disappeared and his eyebrows furrowed in concern. He wasn’t deserving of Finny’s unending kindness, unconditional love. And for  _ Gene _ of all people. Finny could’ve had any girl he wanted, but he chose Gene. Even after everything. 

“Hey, is everything alright?” Finny asked, his hand reaching up to stroke Gene’s face, which Gene swatted away, the tears threatening to spill. 

“We—You—I—,” he stammered out, trying to not sound like he was on the brink of falling apart. “We kissed. I hit you and you still wanted to kiss me.” 

Finny’s brow furrowed, as if he was confused. Why was he confused? It was the truth. Gene was terrible, awful. It flowed in his blood and through his veins, down to the tips of his toes and the roots of his hair. Why did Finny still want him? Why did Gene still want to break him? 

“I’ve wanted to kiss you before then, too,” Finny admitted, though not that shyly, as if it was normal to want to kiss your friend. “C’mon, it’s freezing out here. Let’s go back inside.” 

Gene still felt awful, the weight of Finny’s jacket heavy on his weak shoulders. He was weak to let a boy have such a hold over him. Mold him like he was a ball of clay, let that boy drive his fingers through Gene’s hair, that boy that smiled against Gene’s lips, that boy that rose above him, the blue sky as his backdrop. The blond hair that shined like a halo, the Irish freckles that dotted his cheeks, his fair eyes that saw the world as nothing but good, eyes that should never have to see the horrors of the world. 

Gene stopped and pulled Finny close to him, embracing his friend tightly. The war was still far away. It couldn’t dare reach them here, at Devon, where nothing ever changed. Finny’s eyelashes tickled his ear and he sharply inhaled. Everything inside of him was being pulled down towards the ground, rooting him in place. He needed Finny. He had been foolish to push his friend away, treat him like garbage. And for what? He had made Finny miserable and he had felt  _ pleased _ about it. He was a monster. He was evil. He was bad. He was…

“It’s okay,” he heard Finny murmur and Gene must’ve been crying because Finny’s hands were on his cheeks, his thumbs wiping away the tears. 

Words escaped him. Or perhaps there was nothing to say. Gene let his arms droop at his side and Finny smiled at him, a smile that wasn’t sad or happy, but maybe just one to reassure Gene. Since when did he need so much reassurance? Maybe Finny had made him weak. Had he made Finny weak? It didn’t seem that way. He had made Finny sad, he knew that. But not weak. Finny was stronger than Gene could ever be. Finny had never once gotten angry at him, jealous of him, and he seemed as though he had never even wanted to be any of those things. Looking at him, Gene knew Finny had never thought a bad thing in his life. His blond hair and ivory skin were forged by the heavens itself, life breathed into him by angels, his golden smile etched into his skin at birth, dazzling everyone. He could only think of jokes and fairness and how to make people happy. Gene could never be enough for him. His head was muddled with anger and shame and loathing. 

Finny took Gene’s hand and intertwined their fingers as if it was the most natural thing in the world. He brought their hands up to his face and placed a kiss on Gene’s knuckles. And everything that had been brewing inside melted. Maybe Gene was enough. Maybe they were enough. 

Two was enough.

  
  
  



End file.
